Things I Took for Granted

Over the last several months, I’ve needed the services of a large animal veterinarian. In midsummer, I noticed that a number of our ewes had developed symptoms of chlamydia infection (mostly blindness). Last month, Indy (officially Lara’s horse, but one that both girls rode), turned up lame. In the first case, I called my friend and colleague Dr. Rosie Busch for advice about treating the ewes. In the second case, I called Sami’s friend and colleague, Dr. Becky Childers, about diagnosing Indy’s lameness. In both cases, I have realized that I’m fortunate to have such friends! But both of these instances have made me realize some of the things I took for granted - for one, being married to my veterinarian was quite a luxury as a part-time sheepherder and mule man!

But access to veterinary advice isn’t the only thing I took for granted. I’ve realized that Sami and I each relied on the other to decompress after a difficult day, or to celebrate after little triumphs. When we got home from work, one or the other of us would vent about the people or situations that caused us stress during the day, or share something that went well. On the other hand, sometimes, we wouldn’t talk much - I didn’t realize how comforting it was just to know the other person was simply there as we went about our evening chores. We both ran our ideas by each other - how to fix the barn door, when to move the sheep we kept at the house, or what to fix for dinner.

I also took for granted the fact that Sami handled the household finances. I paid the ranch bills and did the ranch books: Sami took care of everything else. As her condition worsened over the summer, I began to take steps to change our bank accounts and make sure our bills got paid. I think I’ve figured out most of these, but since Sami’s passing, I’ve discovered some bills that hadn’t been paid since last spring - and others that were paid automatically even though we didn’t owe anything on them. Fortunately, our estate planning made much of this transition easier - we had granted each other power of attorney in case something like this happened.

As I have written previously, we both wanted Sami to be at home to the end - and I’m so thankful for the help we received from our family (especially Lara and Emma, and my sister Meri and her husband Adrian) to make this possible. That said, after Sami passed, I found that I needed to change our bedroom up - I couldn’t bear to sleep in the room as it was before Sami’s illness. I moved furniture, bought a smaller bed and a rocking chair to read in, and rearranged some of our artwork. But last night, for the first time, I rolled over in my sleep and expected to find Sami next to me - I awoke when I realized she wasn’t. Despite changing up the room, I guess I still take Sami’s presence for granted, too.

Over the last several weeks, I’ve thought a great deal about how to describe where I am in the grieving process. Sometimes, I feel like the forward momentum that carried me through the immediate aftermath of Sami’s passing kept me steady on my feet. As this work has slowed (and as summer ranch and extension work have transitioned to fall), I find myself slowing down - which makes me feel less steady on my feet. Equilibrium is more difficult the slower I move. In other ways, I feel like our lives together were like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle - in the part of my life where Sami and I fit together for 33 years, there’s now empty space. Maybe a river and a streambank are a better analogy - we both shaped each other; now that resistance and force is missing.

Finally, I have found that memories from friends and family about Sami are comforting. My friend Roger shared that he was fixing hamburger and rice for a dog that wouldn’t eat - because that’s what Sami had told him to do many years ago. Another friend related how patient Sami was when we taught her and her husband how to butcher chickens. I suppose that another thing I take for granted - and I suspect most of us do - is the power of little things like this. The power of patience and friendship. The power of community.